


a million stars in your eyes

by cardinal__sin



Series: the course of true love (never did run smooth) [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alcohol, Drunk Jack, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, POV Third Person, POV Tim, Slow Dancing, idk this is flööf, soft Jack, tim overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinal__sin/pseuds/cardinal__sin
Summary: Tim gets called to Jack's penthouse quite late at night for seemingly no damn reason. He's in for a surprise.This is a continuation of my fic normal people, but tbh it's just tooth-rotting first kiss fluff with the boys. you know, fun!
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Timothy Lawrence
Series: the course of true love (never did run smooth) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824283
Kudos: 17





	a million stars in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> as the summary says, part two of this short series. jack is a bit out of character tbh, which happened for two reasons:   
> 1\. he's drunk as FUCK and sloppy and in love and everything after his talk with moxxi  
> 2\. this was the second ever bl fic i wrote gskhfgkfsd im sorryyyyy

Tim enters the living room of the penthouse with cautious steps. He has absolutely no idea why Jack called him over so late at night, but, well, one does not say no to Handsome Jack. And it’s not like he minds spending time with him; Jack is… Entertaining company.

His living room, as always, stuns Tim. Jack _loves_ spending money, and the luxurious, plush furniture, the fluffy carpets and the actual wooden tables (those are awfully rare) are proof of that. Jack certainly has an eye for interior design. Everything is arranged in a way that the guests’ eyes would be drawn to the back wall of the room, replaced entirely by floor-to ceiling glass windows, a stunning panorama of space balancing the simple, yet elegant whites of the furniture. Tim looks around, his eyes searching for Jack. The living room seems to be completely empty, and the only thing out of place is the silver coaster on the coffee table. Which means Jack is probably –

“Timmy, good to see you came!” He hears Jack’s voice from the bar in the far corner of the room. He turns around and fair enough, there he is. Handsome Jack, in the flesh. And slightly drunk.

Jack stands up and walks towards Tim with his arms extended for a hug, his steps unsure, legs wobbly. The tumbler in his hand sways as he walks and a bit of the (presumably expensive) whisky in it sloshes out, staining his cuffs. Alright. Maybe not that slightly drunk.

“You ask, I come,” Tim replies in a flat tone of voice, still trying to work out why exactly he’s there.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that, pumpkin,” Jack purrs. Which, really, could have even been sexy if he didn’t stumble forward in the very next moment. Tim catches him instinctively.

“Wow, my handsome saviour,” Jack looks up at him with a sloppy grin, perfectly content in Tim’s arms.

“You can quit flattering yourself,” Tim huffs, “let’s get you on the couch, alright?”

He’s trying to haul Jack over to said piece of furniture, desperately hoping that once Jack is sitting down and relatively safe, he will get to take his leave. Surely him being called here was just a drunken whimsy of Jack. At the prospect of sitting down comfortably though, Jack suddenly becomes deadweight in his arms.

“What are you doing?” Tim hisses, trying very hard not to drop Jack, who is being about as helpful as a bag of space debris, and twice as heavy. “I’m trying to help you here!”

“But I don’t wanna sit,” Jack whines, slightly slurred, “I wanna daaaaance!”

“You’re in no state for dancing and you know it. Just sit down, okay?”

Jack stares up at Tim with the face Tim hates the most in the universe. Big eyes, pouty lips, eyebrows drawn together. Handsome Jack’s patented puppy eyes. Tim stares down at him, unimpressed. He will not give in. He can withstand the emotional attack Jack has placed him under, he would not crumble – damn it.

“Fine, we can dance,” he huffs, hating himself more with every syllable he speaks, “but not too much, and only something slow, okay? I can’t have you fall and break that handsome face.”

“Aww, you think I’m handsome?” Jack croons, and looks up at Tim with mock-puppy eyes. Tim decides he fucking hates Handsome Jack and he fucking hates alcohol and he fucking hates the combination of the two. Jack is barely acting like himself, which is a bit more worrying than Tim cares to admit, but mostly it’s just exhausting and too much to deal with on a weeknight.

“That’s literally your name, Jack,” he ends up saying, “please just put on some music so we can get this over with.”

“You’re ruining my fun here, pumpkin,” Jack frowns, but soon enough a slow, romantic beat starts up, drifting quietly from the speakers. Tim shakes his head, somewhat exasperated. He isn’t crazy happy about slow dancing in general, especially not with his drunk boss, especially not to music like that, but… maybe it would tire Jack out quicker and then he could leave.

Except… Dancing with Jack is _nice_ , somehow. There’s something about Jack’s arms on his shoulders and his hands on Jack’s hips, about the way Jack’s body is a fraction of an inch smaller than his and fits against him perfectly, about his familiar smell of mint, rust and his signature cologne mixing with the whisky, something that seems inexplicably _right_.

Tim has no idea what the everloving fuck he’s experiencing in that very moment, but he’s afraid that it only means trouble. Having feelings for Jack, maybe except resentment (if well hidden) and lust, is a dangerous affair. People have died for having emotions about Jack’s person. So he better hopes the curious tightening in his chest is a cardiovascular problem making itself known and not a sign of affection for his employer.

“You’re a good dancer, Timmy,” Jack mutters against Tim’s skin, head on Tim’s shoulder. They aren’t dancing much, mostly just swaying to the music, but Jack seems to have a good time with it.

“Of course I am,” Tim chuckles quietly, suppressing the sudden urge to press a kiss to the top of Jack’s head – where did that come from anyway?

“I’m you, remember?”

“You’re not me,” Jack scoffs, but there isn’t any anger in it, “I’m wayyyy better than you. I’m the original, copyrighted Handsome Jack, baby. But you’re pretty cute yourself.”

“You’re so full of yourself, stop complimenting your own face,” Tim frowns down at him, but Jack doesn’t give him the shit-eating grin he’s expected. No, Jack pulls back a little, staring up at Tim with a serious face.

“I wasn’t trying to compliment myself. You’re _cute_. You are. You and your freckles and your pretty eyes and you’re _fun_ , Timmy, do you know that? You’re nice to have around. You. Are. Cute.”

With that, he drops his head back to Tim’s shoulder, probably exhausted from his little monologue. Tim stares over Jack’s shoulders with an empty gaze, trying to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. Jack had paid him a whole-ass compliment. Or multiple compliments. On a better day, Tim could have called it a confession. But that is not a thing with Handsome Jack. He doesn’t confess things, he makes demands and hurts and doesn’t consider feelings. That’s just how he is.

But on the other hand, it’s quite a pleasant concept, Jack confessing something like this to him. Tim can certainly see the appeal, even if only in theory. Jack is… Jack, everyone wants him or wants to be him. (Or wants him dead, but let’s not get into that.) Tim is already Jack, in a way, so theoretically he could be able to have both. Being Jack and being with Jack, that is. But even though that sounds surprisingly enticing, it still doesn’t mean that it would happen. Jack is just drunk. Drunk people say stupid shit. He would sleep a couple hours, sober up, and then go back to being the cocky, flirtatious bastard that he is. Tim thinks it would be for the better, no matter how much he dislikes Jack’s brash sense of humour.

“I can hear you overthinking, pumpkin,” Jack slurs into Tim’s shoulder, “it’s ruining my fun. I’m gonna have to stop your crazy brain.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Tim asks, still lost in thought.

“Like this.”

And suddenly there are lips on his, pressing against him, warm and soft and tasting like whisky and Tim’s brain goes _oh_ before grinding to a halt. There’s only Jack, in that moment, Jack’s arms around his neck, pulling him close, Jack’s tongue flicking against his lips, making Tim’s mouth slip open with a soft sigh, Jack’s skin, hot against his palms where his hands wander underneath his shirt – and Tim’s brain goes back online to form the single thought of “okay, wow” before going offline again, leaving Tim to his own devices.

And that’s honestly just fine with Tim. He’s perfectly content just as he is, Jack pressed close against him, smiling at Tim as though he were a dream come true, his mismatched – and frankly beautiful – eyes wide and sparkling with a sort of happiness Tim had never seen on him.

“I –” Tim starts, not even sure what he’s going to say, but Jack stops him before he could have gotten any further, so. That’s that.

“Can we not talk?” Jack says, voice surprisingly sober and… soft, for some reason. Tim has never heard Jack talk like that, and he wonders what it could mean.

“I just want to sleep.”

Fair enough. It’s late as fuck ‘o clock and Jack looks exhausted, pretty much on the verge of passing out.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” Tim sighs, reluctantly letting go of Jack with one arm, the other still around his waist to support his weight. Jack doesn’t answer, but he starts walking with Tim, which is a good start.

The bedroom is just as, if not more lavish as the living room. Tim had been there before, when Jack wasn’t in the mood to leave his bed but still wanted to talk face to face. It’s just as simple, elegant and expensive-looking as everything else in his home, lush and over the top, just like Jack himself.

Jack, who manages to stand on his two legs without any support from Tim and is currently in the process of getting undressed. Tim tries not to look, or at least not to be obvious about looking, because, well, Jack looks nice without clothes. Tim can get into what he has going on. (Which is a little weird, considering it’s the same body, but hey, Tim has enough stuff to freak out about, like _the kiss_ , and the whole doppelgänger situation just isn’t that important at the moment.)

Jack crawls underneath the covers muttering _I’ll shower tomorrow_ to himself, leaving his clothes in a discarded pile on the floor. Tim decides to leave it like that. Maybe it’s a concept of his. He takes a look at Jack, curled up in a foetal position on the left side of the bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. Tim would have expected him to sleep differently, which is weird, now that he consciously thinks about it. Why would he have expectations about what position Jack sleeps in? Questions, questions, and none of them would be answered today.

“Good night, then, Jack,” he says, turning around. He’s almost out the door when, almost inaudibly, Jack calls after him.

“Stay?”

Tim looks back at him. He looks so small curled up in that enormous bed, all by himself, that Tim’s heart breaks a little. He sighs and walks back, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Jack.

“Until you fall asleep, ‘kay?”

“That’s enough for now,” Jack smiles, and closes his eyes.

Tim doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he finds himself acting on a sudden urge to touch Jack’s hair. His fingers comb through Jack’s mess of a hair, soft and gentle, over and over again. Jack lets out a content sigh and Tim can see a bit of tension drain out of his body as Tim’s fingers run through his hair. His breathing slows to an even pace, turning into soft little snores on every other exhale. Tim smiles down at him, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He has no idea why he’s acting the way he is. He’s never been the nurturing type and by god Jack doesn’t fucking deserve it, but he can’t help himself. Jack looks soft and vulnerable and they had kissed and Jack said he was cute and… He just does it, for some reason or another, and seeing how much Jack seemed to appreciate it, he refuses to beat himself up about it.

He turns off the lights in the room on the way out, walking as quietly as possible, not daring to disturb Jack’s peace. He looks back for one last time from the doorway, a fond smile in the corner of his mouth at the sight of the most dangerous man this side of the galaxy, curled up in bed with a smile on his face.

Tim exits the penthouse quietly, walking back to his own quarters with a contemplative slowness in his steps and an array of conflicting emotions in his heart. The taste of whisky still lingers on his tongue, the only proof that he hadn’t imagined things. Handsome Jack had, for better or for worse, kissed him, and he had lived to tell the tale. That’s certainly an unusual accomplishment, but not unwelcome. Certainly not unwelcome.

Tim collapses onto his bed without even taking off his clothes. He’s exhausted, mostly emotionally, but he _had_ been working all day so there’s also that. He knows his sleep will be light and fitful at best, if he manages to sleep at all. His mind is all over the fucking place. This little time spent with Jack gave him an entire collection of new and slightly frightening emotions to worry and overthink about, and he is definitely not ready for that. Dealing with emotions like that should warrant a raise, like, a good 600% raise. God, feelings fucking suck. Maybe Jack would be willing to talk tomorrow. About Tim’s raise. About the kiss. That sort of thing. Maybe he would get an explanation, or a resolution, or anything that will answer some of his questions.

Tim yawns and presses his face into his pillow. He should just try to sleep. That’s the best he can do for now. He’ll go back to worrying when he’s awake again. He inhales sharply. Jack’s scent still lingers on him, around him, and he just cannot get rid of it. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to get rid of it. There’s a part of him that wants this, wants Jack. It’s a bit scary and more than a little confusing, but Tim decides to go the fuck to sleep before thinking about it deeper.

And maybe, just maybe, he ends up dreaming about dancing with Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> (side note this was edited into present tense from past tense so if you notice any mistakes pls don't hesitate to point them out! i don't have a beta)
> 
> thank you for reading! feel free to leave kudos or a comment :) find me on tumblr, twitter and instagram as @cardinalxsin if you idk want to yell at me or just check out my extremely interesting online presence :)


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